


Sticks and Stones

by philos_manthanein



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Body Worship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Light Masochism, Oral Sex, Pubic Hair, Self denial, Small Penis, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Deacon has a small dick but his mouth works just fine.





	Sticks and Stones

There's always this dual energy about Cait. It's like she's always a minute away from putting you in a choke hold or throwing you against a wall to tongue you to death. Deacon thinks he would like either of those options, honestly. He'd like it better if he got to experience both.

Deacon likes to think he's suave, thinks he's funny. He chats up people in the bars they stop by on their never-ending tour of subterfuge. Gets these drunken ne'er-do-wells all loose and easy so they spill all their dirt right on to the floor.

All he has to do then is scoop it up and carry it back to Mika, so she can ostensibly do whatever it is she does that keeps her walking that hair-thin line between the Institute and Brotherhood. He hopes it's all to help his people and the refugee synths. He hopes his intuition was right, but it's failed him before.

Cait lacks the subtlety to charm information out of their marks the way Deacon does. More often she's getting drunk right next to them, challenging them to down pint after pint. She makes it easier for Deacon to work them over.

Other times she stands looming, chest out and chin up, when they need to be a little more _persuasive_. Cait is small, but she's far from dainty. Her reputation tends to proceed her. When it doesn't it's not long before she makes it known. She has that fiery Irish gal thing going on, and she knows it.

Sometimes, though, Cait proves to be far more brilliant than she lets on. Deacon sees the way she stands, leaning against the bar with her hip cocked out. How she adjusts her corset over her small breasts as she speaks, loading her words with filthy curses and insults. She knows once her body starts playing peek-a-boo nobody is going to be listening to what she has to say anyway.

Well, Deacon listens, but he looks too. Takes her all in, because the way Cait manages to be both beautiful and terrifying is mesmerizing. She's so fucked up, so broken. It's obvious to everyone. But Deacon knows it goes deeper, because he's all fucked up inside too. He kind of wants to crawl inside her brain and look at all those pretty, jagged pieces. He'd never let anyone do the same to him. He hides, lies, about so much. It's hypocritical.

Maybe that's why they're equally good partners and terrible friends. They're always skirting each other's edges. Flirting overtly with cutesy pet names one second, throwing childish insults and threats the next. Always this thin, thrumming string of... something. Something pulled tight between them, threatening to snap apart.

That's what makes this dangerous. Flirting with her, obnoxiously, side-by-side to the point their arms and hips touch as they knock back liquor. She's flirting back, she always does. It always seems more like a threat than affection.

“Shut your fuckin' mouth or put that tongue o' yours to better use already.” Cait teases and it goes straight through him, hotter than any alcohol.

This is where he should stop. He always has before, for whatever reason, at whatever line he feels is between them. But her eyes are lidded, and her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are open, and he forgets. He forgets why they can't do this.

He leans in and kisses her, dragging his tongue just inside the edge of her mouth. He feels her sharp inward gasp, tastes the whiskey on her lips.

He regrets it instantly.

Because he expects her to shove him away, or knee him in the dick, or even just laugh,call him names then go back to drinking. But Cait is quiet save for the the sound of her breath, hardly noticeable in the noise and smoke surrounding them. Deacon swallows but the heavy tight feeling in his throat doesn't go away.

“Well,” He clears his throat, again to no avail. “You said it.”

Cait grabs him, yanks him forward, and he winces preemptively because he's expecting to get what he deserves. She kisses him instead. It's violent, teeth clicking and tongue swiping, like she's gonna tear the air right out him. Around them the bar patrons hoot and holler. He can't really make out what they're saying because he's too enraptured by the fact he's making out with Cait.

They part but she's still got a hand twisted in the collar of his shirt. Her eyes are narrowed, dark. She's panting. Deacon is panting too, rivers of tingles rocketing through his limbs.

“Fuck, let's go.” Cait says, digging some caps out of her jeans and throwing them haphazardly at the bar top, though some clatter to the floor.

Deacon wants to say something clever. He wants to make fun of how he's got her so riled up. That they should make sure that's enough to pay the tab. That these people seem to be enjoying the show. She has him out the door before his mouth catches up to his brain.

“Aw, you're stretching out my favorite shirt, doll.” Deacon whines exaggeratedly.

“Then maybe you should take it off, love.” Cait replies and she grins just so wickedly.

Deacon feels like he's going to melt through the crumbling pavement. This is happening. In all the iterations of this fantasy he never imagined he'd feel this intense, and so early. He's already half-hard in his jeans by the time Cait drags him into the inn.

It barely counts as a building, much less a place to rest. Reconsidering, Deacon doubts Cait plans to let him relax. Oh, she's getting a room, one room, one bed... He really shouldn't be surprised, it's clear where this is going, but the anticipation still curls hot inside him. It rings a laugh right out of his tight throat.

“Ask him for extra towels.” Deacon chimes. “Oh! And pillow mints.”

Cait slams her elbow into Deacon's ribs and it makes him double over. He wheezes. Then he laughs again, both because Cait hits like a rabid radstag and also because he's so turned on he feels like he's going just a little bit insane.

The trip up the stairs and into their rented room is a whirl. That's good, because once Deacon refocuses his drink-addled mind Cait's already stepping out of her jeans. His throat goes dry all over again, looking over her thin, pale legs. They're covered in specks of dirt that made it through the tears in the fabric. There are red scratches and faded pink scars and fine, light red hairs.

She's just so fucking beautiful.

She pulls off her thin underwear but leaves on her corset top. When she turns back to him, he's gazing everywhere. He can't decide where to look. Everywhere he looks makes him itch to throw her to the bed. Not that he would, not that she would let him. It's pretty clear Cait is the one in charge. That's just fine with Deacon.

Cait steps up to him. In a quick motion she whips off his sunglasses, tossing them off to clatter against the floor. He's sort of glad he's not wearing one of his wigs, because he has to tape those suckers on. He doesn't think Cait would be beyond ripping that, or anything else, off him too.

She slides her fingers along his neck to the back of his head and pulls him along as she walks backward. When they reach the bed she sits, making a point to tug him down with her. Deacon thinks they're going to kiss again, but Cait shoves his head downward.

“Put it to good use.” She says heavily.

Deacon's heart is kind of racing. It's been a long time since he's gotten laid, longer still since he's been with someone as attractive as Cait. And she's so attractive in so many ways. She's also kind of scary. There's a tinge of worry coiling inside him, that he won't be able to satisfy her, thinking what she could do if he doesn't. The worry gives way to a sudden spark of lust. It's just a little disturbing that he's even more turned on thinking about her hurting him in horrible ways.

He ducks between her legs, but doesn't go for her cunt right away. Instead kissing and sucking at her inner thigh while his hands slide up her legs to her hips. He lacks a lot, he hates to admit, in his own “lower department”, so he's had to improvise. Luckily, he's gotten very good at the things that don't require his cock.

When he does get to it, he nudges his tongue into her slit and draws a line up to her clit. She's not entirely wet yet, but he can tell she's been wanting. He can taste the beginnings of her arousal.

He licks along the outside of her lips, letting her thick pubic hairs drag against his mouth and chin. Taking his time, he lets his tongue experiment a little; sometimes using flat, broad strokes, sometimes going rigid to swirl over her clit or plunge deep into her. Soon she's completely slick for him.

Deacon looks up at Cait and grins. He can't help it, because she looks so heated and even surprised. Her cheeks are blushing, eyes half-lidded, and rosy lips parted. She uses one hand to undo the snaps of her corset and fling it away.

“You eat a lot o' pussy, Deacon?” She says vulgarly.

“Not as much as I'd like.” Deacon teases, squeezing his fingers against her hips.

“Better fuckin' get to it then.” Cait smirks and lets her legs fall further apart for him.

Excited, Deacon does as he's told. He fucks her with his tongue, sure to drag it up and gently lap and suck at her clit too. He wants to taste her everywhere, so he does, until she's writhing and panting and moaning out deliciously filthy words. Until his mouth and chin are completely covered in her silky, slick cum.

Even then he doesn't want to stop, though he's hot and uncomfortable in his clothes. He's so hard too, but he knows he's far more skilled at this. It would be over too soon, if she even let him put his dick in her. It's more enjoyable to make her arch and shout and grab at his head to force his tongue as deep into her cunt as it can go.

Soon he's breathless and his jaw is aching, but she's still going and hasn't told him to stop. So he replaces his tongue with his fingers. First he lets them thread through the dark hairs framing her pussy, admiring how wet he's made her. He swirls his thumb over her swollen, pink clit and she moans, cursing at him. Finally he slides his two middle fingers into her, slowly, imagining what her tight cunt would feel like around his cock.

“Harder, you shite.” Cait seethes but it sounds more needy than she probably intended.

Of course Deacon is happy to obey. He draws out his fingers and shoves them in hard and deep. Again and again, picking up the pace until his arm muscles are tight and his fingers practically pistoning into her. Cait goes wild from it, legs shaking around him and fingers clutching at the bed. She screams as she orgasms, one after another. Deacon wants to make a joke about waking up the entire inn, but he's concentrating too hard on making Cait cum.

Suddenly Cait reaches up and grabs his arm, halting him with his fingers still buried in her. She's panting and twitching, her pussy tensing in pulses around him.

“Enough, enough, fuck.” Cait says, completely out of breath.

Obediently, Deacon pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on his jeans. Cait sits up, still shaking, and grabs him by the face. He barely has a chance to warn her that he probably tastes like her cum before she kisses him. It's deep and messy, just like the whole night has been. When she's done, she flops back against the bed and closes her eyes.

She looks absolutely wrecked, in the most satisfying way. Deacon feels proud.

He waits a moment, then decides to take the chance and lays down on his side next to her. Cautiously, he puts his hand on her hip. Cait shifts, but otherwise doesn't do or say anything about it. He's still all hot and sweaty in his clothes, but he doesn't want to push his luck. Still hard too, but it's not like he's unused to going without, either.

He wants to enjoy this feeling, whatever it is, for however long it lasts. For as long as Cait will let him.

 


End file.
